Justified & Ancient
- Apr 12, 2005
I began this reporting four years ago at another newspaper 1,900 miles away. In 2015, I was working at
in Palm Springs, California. It was a few days before I took a vacation. A private eye I knew – Bill – called me. He said he found something big. It felt clandestine.
I liked Bill, but I didn’t exactly trust him. He was a long-winded 70-something curmudgeon with a gravely voice who always told stories about his own greatness. (We have that in common.). With Bill, it was hard to tell truth from a boast. But I was so intrigued.
I drive to Bill’s house. His home office is a wild mess – weird electronics and case files and shotgun shells are scattered across his desk. I can’t remember if he had a claymore or if that was Ron Swanson. Maybe both.
Bill hands me a tube of prescription skin cream. (It looks like the blue creams in this photo.) I notice the name on the tube is not Bill. This is someone else's medicine. Bill says the cream is worth thousands of dollars. I roll my eyes.